The Fall Of Canada
by AuthorReinvented
Summary: All of a sudden the personification of the second largest country in the world disappeared without a trace. The decline of the country began not long after. France, England, and America race to preserve the country and find Canada before it's too late. The answer seems to lie with a small child and a polar bear.
1. It Begins

All of a sudden the personification of the second largest country in the world disappeared without a trace.

The decline of the country started not long after. First it was the territories, as Nunavut fell to Denmark. America, always the hero, was quick to realize the danger his brother country was in, and moved in from the north, taking over the Yukon territories, claiming them as part of Alaska. The Northwest territories fell to the inescapable forces from both sides, unable to defend itself.

America moved quickly, determined to protect what was left of Canada, and crept up from the south, and took the east coast. Quebec fortified itself, abandoning its sister provinces.

France and England would not stay quiet with America's growing power, and France reached out to Quebec, offering support. England attacked the provinces America had already claimed to prevent any further growth. Due to this America stopped his quest to claim Canada and turned his attention to protecting what part of Canada he had already won.

The rest of the unclaimed provinces took advantage of this distraction to ally their forces in a desperate attempt to keep the country together. But all the countries knew that without the personification of the country, Canada wouldn't last long.

America, England, and France were all fighting each other, all of them wanted to protect a country they had once considered family. But in the process, they were tearing what was left of it apart. One by one, each country realized it. None wanted to be the first to give way. All of them waited for some sign, some great "thing" to provide a reason.

Finally, with almost nothing left of a once great country, the reason came from the least expected place.

A child, with blond hair, a stray curl and purple eyes, covered with cuts, scars and bruises, holding a white bear tight to his chest.

"Who am I?"


	2. Who Am I?

On the shore of a remote pond underneath the reaching branches of a weeping willow, a pile of orange and red leaves shifted. A wandering fox dug at the pile of leaves, looking for a small mouse or a vole to satisfy its stomach. It scratched against red fabric, and fastened its teeth on the unknown object and tugged. The pile of leaves shifted more, and the fabric surfaced, and with it an arm, of a child. The fox sniffed the arm for a moment, cautiously, then darted away warily when the hand twitched. For a moment, the pile shivered, then fell away completely as a young boy say up, dislodging the leaves that had covered him. He blinked his eyes slowly, and tried to focus.

The fox watched warily from a clump of bushes. The boy didn't appear to me more than 10, and seemed to be quite alone. He made no sudden movements, and didn't seem to have a weapon of any sort with him. Just when the fox had decided that this boy was not a threat, a white furred animal stirred next to the boy and sat up. Instantly the fox was on alert. It could sense something strange from the pair, and was afraid. The bear (for it was a bear) shook itself and took a few steps. Even though it was a bear, it was not much larger than the fox, and though it appeared to be a polar bear, it was nowhere near the snowy areas where a polar bear ought to be. The boy reached out his hands and gripped the polar bear's fur, and pushed himself to his feet. He picked up the animal and tottered to the edge of the pond and peered in. He stared uncertainly at his reflection and tightened his grip on the polar bear. The bear squirmed in his arms and looked into the face of the boy holding it. It hesitated for a moment, then opened its mouth. "Who are you?"

The fox turned tail and fled.

The boy stared at his reflection in the water, and brought a hand to his cheek.

"I don't know. Who am I?"


	3. Empty Teacup

England sat back in his chair, scattering the piles of paper all over the table. He dropped his head into his hands with a sigh. _ Why?_ He never wanted this. He thought back to all those times, raising Canada and America, and wished he'd spent more time with Canada.

"Ironic, isn't it?" He said out loud to Malcom, his fairy friend, "the second largest country in the world, and no one ever noticed him until he's gone." He sighed again. "Including myself. Still, I cannot allow America to take Canada's land for himself. He simply cannot be allowed to get any bigger." He brought his teacup to his lips, but it was empty. It was always empty these days. Perhaps it was for the better, he mused. After all, what sort of gentleman calmly drinks tea when a family member is missing?

"Dammit!" He brought the empty cup down in the table, just a little too hard. It cracked slightly, but England didn't care. "We should be looking for him! He's out there somewhere, I know, he's alone, and probably in pain and all we can do- all _I _can do, is fight for his land! It's pathetic!" He tipped his head back, staring at the flaking ceiling. His eyes burned, but it wasn't from tears, he told himself. It was probably from lack of sleep, he reasoned. After all, England didn't get much sleep lately. Besides the obvious war with America, and the constant guard against France in case he decided to make a move, was the fact that England had agents behind the scenes, using alliances with other countries to come and go freely, to search for Canada. So far he had not been able to find him, and England had a sneaking suspicion that Canada was somewhere in his lands still, barely surviving the terrible war.

Malcolm fluttered down to settle on England's cup. His voice was light, but strong and England heard every word.

"I know." He responded, tiredly, "but regardless, I cannot stop this war. If I give way, Canada will fall to America completely." Malcolm protested, but England only shook his head. "There's no choice. Even if it tears him apart, I have to try. Because, even if there's only one small part of his land left, he can come back if I- no, _when _I find him." The fairy fell silent. With no further discussion, England reached once more for his papers. After all, there was no time to waste. If he didn't find Canada fast, the country may die first.


	4. Advise

Alone, the bear and the boy walked through the woods, guided only by a sense of need and their instincts. The boy knew he needed to be somewhere, although he didn't remember where. The bear knew he couldn't leave the boy's side, although he couldn't remember who the boy was. They walked haltingly, and every now and then the boy would clutch his heart and his legs would give out and he would collapse on the fallen leaves. His heart hurt. It felt like it was missing, leaving a gaping hole in his chest. Sometimes his body seemed to be racked with pain all over and he would crumble to the ground and cry out in pain.

At times like these, the bear would sit against him, pressing his body weight against the boy, and licking the tears from his face. But everytime, once the pain had passed, the boy stood up on shaking legs, twisting one hand in the polar bear's thick fur, and would start on again, and the bear would pace itself to the boys trembling steps. They walked through woods, over frosty plains, and along side the muddy bank of the occasional swamp. As they walked, suddenly a flock of Canadian geese flew overhead, screaming.

The boy stopped to listen to what they were saying. "Ah, people! People ahead! Guns!" They called to eachother. The head goose in the v-formation announced changing course and they veered away, flying back the way the boy and the bear had come from. "Guns?" He wondered softly. He wasn't sure, he couldn't remember, but something about guns felt..._off._ He stopped short, momentarily confused. His instincts were saying that he needs to go this way, that if he went this way, he would feel better, something would change, but they were also setting off alarm bells at the thought of "guns".

Somehow, he knew, he had to go straight ahead, but while avoiding the gunsmen. A great owl in a nearby tree was awakened by the loud noises and hooted, annoyed at having its rest disturbed. The sun was beginning to set and the boy was getting ever more nervous at the prospect of nightfall, so he called out to the bird. "Excuse me?" The owl shook it's head surprised, and peered around to see who was calling. "Who?" It asked quizzically when it saw the boy and the bear. Not having an answer to that question, the boy simply pretended not to hear. "I'm sorry to bug you, but would you know how we can go forward without going near the guns?" The owl hesitated. Normally a very proud and fierce bird, he not inclined to help, but something about this boy called to him, and deep in his core he could feel a connection with this boy.

Besides,a regular human wouldn't have been speaking to an owl to start with. After a moment of careful deliberation, the owl decided he may as well. He fluttered down and landed on the bear's back, confident he would not be attacked. The boy was watching him expectantly, so the owl took his time answering, then clicked his beak and said "Well, I'm awake anyways. No harm in taking you, I suppose." The boy's eyes lit up and the bear grunted what may have been a "thanks" or possibly he had just found a grub. "Thank you so much! I really appreciate it!" The boy cried. Not an overly emotional creature, the owl simply ignored this, and took off, soaring through the trees, a little to the left. "This way." Neither the beast or the boy hesitated, weaving there way through the trees after the grey owl.


	5. Shoot the Heart

America stood behind his boss as he plotted points on a map. "England is trying to take Newfoundland and Labrador and is attacking from the north," His boss explained, placing a red piece there as a representation. "France is protecting Quebec. Not a Fly goes in or out that they don't know of." America's boss moved a white piece to Quebec. America stared at the board. It was strange, he reflected, to see a map of his brother laid out like this. Even though he had lived so close to Canada, he knew next to nothing about the geography." Denmark has taken this area here," America's boss continued, placing a yellow piece in Nunavut.

America felt a little nauseous looking at the small pieces littering the board. America's boss didn't know, he couldn't understand, but to America, it felt dirty, greasy, like he was dissecting his brother, and he could almost smell the rusty copper scent of his blood in the air. America tried to ignore the whole image and focus only on the small parts. "Now, according to what you said," America's boss continued obliviously, "This right here is Canada's heart." He tapped on Ontario. America flinched, but nodded. "Yeah, that's right." He felt sickening, lower than garbage.

America tried to remind himself that he had no choice. A country cannot go against their boss, no matter what. Just like Germany has not been able to defy Hitler, America could not defy his boss, even if he hated it. "In order to defeat Canada, then we need to take his heart. Once we take his heart, Canadians will quickly lose their will to fight." America's boss summarized, marking Ottawa with a large red X. He stood back, barely acknowledging America's weak nod of affirmation. "Shoot the heart,the beast will fall." America's boss looked satisfied, and turned to America.

"Dismissed." He announced, gesturing for America to leave. America saluted, and took his leave, the queasy feeling no closer to settling in his stomach. His boss's words rang in his head. "_Shoot the heart, and the beast will fall." _His boss was right of course, but something about the situation was bothering him. Finally, as he entered his chambers, and his eyes lighted on a smaller map of Canada, did he understand what had been bothering him.

_"Shoot the heart, and the beast will fall." _Canada's heart was Ontario, and France should know both Quebec and him speaking French, there was no reason for France to support Quebec over Ontario, Canada's unprotected heart. America knew for a fact that France would give anything to protect Canada, and despite his looks, he wasn't stupid. But then... "Why is he protecting Quebec?" America voiced the question aloud.


	6. Passage

The boy and the bear clambered awkwardly up the cliff side, finding footholds only available to the small fingers of a child, or the long claws of a bear. The owl circled at the top of the ledge, more awake now that night had fallen. Finally the bear reached the top of the ledge and turns to watch as the boy, only a few feet behind, also reached for the edge. Just as the boy reached for the top, perched precariously on a thin slate foothold, tremors shook his body, and he slipped, falling backwards from the owl screeched in surprise, though not necessarily because it was upset.

Instead of reaching for the ledge as he fell, or trying to stop his fall, the boy curled, wrapping his arms tightly around himself as though to hold himself together. It was only the quick movements of the bear that saved him. Moving much quicker than a polar bear should be able to, it reached out and grabbed the cloth of the boy's hoodie in its mouth, and pulled with more strength than an animal of his size should have, even if it was a bear.

The bear hauled the boy onto the ledge, and he lay there shaking, and pressing his hands to his heart as though to stop the throbbing. His ears rang and he felt as though he could hear thousands of people calling out, then nothing. Slowly, and shakily he uncurled and got to his feet, his trembling fingers twinning into the bear's coarse coat. "Merci." He murmured thankfully, and the bear accepted it, noiselessly.

The owl clicked his beak at this development, more confused than ever. Owls were not necessarily nosy birds, but the owl was beginning to feel quite curious about the pair, and with that feeling of curiosity grew a feeling that something was not right. A robotic clicking sound alerted the owl to a presence, and it instantly went on the aggressive, attaching the droning metal box with the spinning rotors. The drone, for it was a drone (although the owl did not know this), took to the sky higher, and managed to escape the owls talons.

The owl watch with satisfaction as the drone seemingly fled, unaware of the discord that the picture taken would bring to its already disturbed mountain side. It lighted on a nearby rock jutting out from the ground. The boy noticed and walked closer to the bird. "I won't go any further." The owl announced, trying to seem as though it was terribly busy and not just hungry for it's dinner. The boy didn't press or argue, to the bird's relief. "Thank you again for bringing us all this way." He thanked the owl.

The owl preened his wing feathers as though he didn't really care, and then bobbed his head to the east. "If you go straight you shouldn't meet any more gunmen after this." It stated finally, then stretched its wings before taking off. The owl hadn't found it necessary to say goodbye, though he secretly hoped to never meet the strange pair again. The lone boy and the white bear watched the grey owl disappear, and then both turned and moved together, towards the east.


	7. Enfant

France jerked awake, groggily, peeling the documents from his face, when a soldier called to him, announcing he was needed to speak with the General. He didn't bother to clean up, on pulled his hair back into a ponytail, and brushed the wrinkles off his pants, before hurrying after the soldier. If only England could see him now, he reflected. He didn't have to look in the mirror to know that his face was drawn, there were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was messy, and his clothes was wrinkled for falling asleep without changing.

France, the face of fashion, looked rather like a homeless person, his only saving grace was how clean his clothing was. He shook the thought out of his head. France knew he was taking a risk guarding Quebec over Ontario, but he held onto a wisp of a hope. Ontario might be Canada's heart, but Quebec was his soul. Quebec was where France had first found Canada, and deemed him "Nouvelle France", and France held onto the tiniest hope that if Canada were to be anywhere, it would be here.

He shook himself out of his reverie as he entered the General's cabin. He barely remembered to salute, but the General didn't mind, having grown used to France, and knowing he was just as exhausted as everyone there.

"Glad you could make it." He nodded to France, and dismissed the soldier. "About 8:30 tonight, someone crossed into Quebec." "Crossed in? Through border control? Some one suspicious?" France pressed for more information, concerned. "That's just it. Despite how tight our border control is, he got around it. And what's more..." The General frowned pulling out a picture from his document. "If you ask if the person in question is suspicious, the answer is yes, but not in the way you're thinking."

He slid the image across the table to France. "They match the description you gave. Blonde hair, a curl, glasses and a white bear, but-" France quickly flipped over the image, heart beating, and froze. "Mon Dieu." "Oui." The General agreed grimly. "Then, is this child-?" France felt as though he was about to walk off a cliff, but wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't float if he did. "Oui. It's him." France had not been with Canada when he had grown to this size, but the image was unmistakable. Canada, for unknown reasons, had turned back into a child.


	8. Separation

The bear and the boy had gotten separated. It had all happened in an instant. One moment they were walking along, then the boy's tremors hit and he slipped on the wet leaves and tumbled down the hill. Naturally, the bear had started after him, but the retort of a gunshot pierced the air and he stumbled back as shouting was heard. As another bullet whizzed by, nearly brushing against the bears wet nose, he had found he had no choice but to retreat, and had hidden himself in the hollow at trunk of a rotting tree.

The bear remained hidden, forcing himself further into the rotted wood, even after the voices and the guns were gone, refusing to move till their scent faded. The bear knew, instinctively, that his white fur made him an easy target, and that it was best to remain hidden. Even so, the pressing feeling in the bear's chest told him he needed to go, needed to find the boy, stay by him, and protect him.

The bear reluctantly crawled out of its hiding place, taking advantage of the rotten wood to make a quick snack out of some grubs. Then he licked his lips once more, and set out to find the boy. He sniffed carefully, following his own path back to the slope the boy had fallen down, and was relieved to find no evidence or smell that the hunters may have been here.

Slowly, making use of his long sharp claws, he picked his way down the slope, and stopped to smell a patch of red at the bottom. Even before he stuck out his tongue to taste it, the bear knew it was the boy's blood. The bear remembered the gunshots, vividly, and a feeling like hot iron ran through his veins. The bear began to grow frantic and clawed the dirty leaves nearby for clues.

He scented many smaller blood drops, and followed them, shifting dead leaves over the trail as he went, hiding it. The trail ended, abruptly, in the middle of a clearing. Not only the blood trail, but also the boys scent, suddenly seemed to fade. The bear whined to itself, and sniffed for any clues he might find.

He found the clue in a pile of moose droppings. He caught a faint wisp of the boys scent near and it didn't take the bear to figure out what happened. He knew that the boy was special, although he couldn't remember why, and he knew the other animals could sense it too. The moose must have been passing by when the boy had called out to it.

The bear once again set off at an ambling speed, this time following the scent of the moose.


	9. Tryst

England jumped when his personal phone rang. This wasn't the official line that his queen and her officials used to contact him, but his own personal phone that only a few had the number to. He answered cautiously. "Hello?" The voice on the other end had a thick French accent. "Angleterre, we must talk." England stiffened at the sound of the other country. "This had better be important, France." "Oui. This information will change the course of the war." At the serious and quiet response, England put down his pen. "Where shall we meet?" "Belgium gave us permission to meet there. I can't go to you because of the war."

England understood what he meant. Having the personification of another country currently involved in the war over to his country would cause many diplomatic issues. "Alright. I'm heading out immediately. I'll see you there." He responded sharply, already gathering his things into his briefcase. "Angleterre." France spoke carefully, "This is a personal meeting. No need to get the government involved."

England instantly got the message. _Come secretly_. If France was asking he sneak out without alerting his government, it must be related to Canada. England was already pulling on his jacket as he responded "Understood." The phone call ended with a click, and England grabbed the keys to his private plane. "Time to do something I haven't done in a while."

When he landed at the private airstrip in Belgium, France and Belgium were already waiting. After exchanging greetings, Belgium showed France and England to a small meeting room and tactfully made herself scarce. "Well?" England pressed France when they were alone. Silently, France opened his bag and pulled out a single picture, which he slid across the table to England. England studied it, piercingly. His breath caught in his throat. "Canada." He looked up and studied France's face. "Where did you get this?"

France carelessly tossed a couple more pictures on the table, of the same boy from different locations. "These were taken yesterday night." England froze, processing. "Then Canada is-" France nodded. "I think so. I just needed you to confirm it." England didn't need to look at the picture again to confirm, but couldn't help but glance at it again. "Yes, that's him." He swallowed. "Does America know?"

France shook his head slowly. "America is too straightforward. He cannot 'ide his feelings. And despite his own feelings, if 'is boss finds out-" "That would put Canada in grave danger." England finished for him, realizing he was correct. "So it's just between us then?" France nodded. "I am trying to find' im as we speak, we know he's in Quebec. Until we can find' im no one can know.

Not even America."


	10. Hurt

The first thing the boy heard when he woke up was the roar of a polar bear, countered by the outraged sound of a moose. He sat up as quickly as he could with his bleeding head and saw the moose aim a sharp kick at the white Bear, who barely managed to dodge, before attempting to gut the beast on its antlers. The bear was not backing down, but also was not attacking, clearly reluctant to i jured the towering moose.

"Wait!" The boy stumbled to his feet, grabbing at a nearby bush to steady himself. The moose stopped short turning to face the boy. "He's my friend!" The boy cried out, stumbling over to the bear. "He won't hurt me." The moose was unconvinced, and shook her antlers viscously, ready to attack if the bear should show any signs of aggression.

The boy grabbed the bear's head and held him close, breathing deeply. "You came for me." The bear sat back on its haunches and sniffed the bloody wound on the boy's forhead. "Blood." The bear commented nervously, tentatively licking at the wound. The boy winced and pushed him away. "Your tongue is too scratchy. I'm fine, I cut it when I fell." The bear wrinkled its brow in concern, but didn't try again.

The moose lowed, and the boy turned to her. "It's alright," he soothed. He gave the bear an apologetic look. "She lost her calf to a black bear earlier this month so she's having a hard time accepting you." He explained to the polar bear. "She doesn't mean any harm." The polar bear accepted this information with a gracious nod, and trudged around the moose to a tree on the other side of the boy, keeping his distance from the moose.

He watched the boy with concern, studying his movements, before huffing in relief as he didn't seem badly injured. "Thanks for your help. We have to go now, I have somewhere I need to be." The boy rubbed the moose on the soft muzzel and then whispered something into her ear. The bear could have heard thhr whispered words with its unusually good hearing and the silence in the wood, but he didn't try, simply scratching its back on the tree, then following after the boy as he bear didn't ask what the boy had said, and the boy didn't tell him, both simply walked together in harmony.

They walked for hours in silence, neither feeling the need to speak, then it happened. One moment the boy and the bear were walking as always, the next moment the boy felt a piercing pain throughout his body, as though he was being put through a wood chipper. His heart felt as though it was torn into bloody strips, and the pains he'd felt before seemed like tickles compared to this.

He stopped walking and screamed, louder than he ever had before, tearing at his skin with his fingernails as if he could make it stop. The bear forced its nose in between the clawing fingers and the soft skin, laying its whole body on top of the boy, using its body weight to protect the child from himself. The boys clawed feebly at the thick coarse hair and the thick skin, as though trying to rip through the weight and tear himself apart.

The boy screamed until his voice disappeared, and even after his cries were nothing but a soundless gasp, rasping with a throat that was on fire, as he felt the pain that never seemed to end, as if someone had taken a rake to his internal organs and muscles and nerve endings. Finally, the boy could scream no more, cry no more, fight no more. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he faded into oblivion, tears still rolling from his glassy eyes.

The bear nudged the unconscious form gently with his scratched and bleeding nose, and uncertaintly got up off the boy and laid quietly next to him, waiting for the boy to awaken.


	11. Bond

America a woke up from his sleep in a cold sweat, crying out with pain. He sat up quickly, shaking from the experience. After a moment the pain faded, though America still felt weak. He didn't bother to shower, simply grabbing his jacket and making his way to the general's office and hanging on the door. America's heart was beating a mile a minute.

America knew that inexplicable pains were caused by damage to his lands, reflected on the country himself. For him to be experiencing such a great pain must mean a great loss to America itself. He banged violently on the door again, and heard his general affirm that he could come in. Not at all in the proper way of a soldier, America threw open the door and almost fell in his hurry. He strode up to his boss eyes wide and face pale and sweaty. "So you found out anyways." America's boss said with a sigh.

America was quick to read his tone and figure out what his boss was implying. He had done something, behind America's back, and had purposely kept it a secret. "What did you do?" America demanded hoarsely, slamming his hands on the desk. Then the phantom pains took over him again, not as strong as before, but throbbing, aching, and America fell to his knees with pain. He could hear his boss shouting an order and felt soldiers rush to him, but he pushed them away.

Just as suddenly, the pain was gone. He stumbled back to his feet and looked his boss dead in the eyes. His boss's face had changed colour, and he no longer oozed confidence, his eyes betraying his unease and misgivings. Again, America repeated his question. "What the hell did you do?" Almost against his will, America's boss's eyes slid to the side, falling on the map of Canada.

America followed his line of vision,and instantly saw the difference. Ontario, which had previously been unmarked, now was pinned with an American flag. America turned desperately, looking at his boss for explanation. His boss spoke cooly and detached, although his eyes showed his discomfort.

"Ontario has fallen. We kept this secret from you because we thought it would be too hard for you to fight your brother." America reeled with the information, and things clicked into place. The same reason Canada had suffered from the Great Depression as well, America was feeling his brother's pain. "We're twins." He said out loud. "We have a connection." America's boss was quick to put two and two together. "You're saying that you can feel his pain?" America licked his chapped lips. "This war will tear us both apart." He whispered, and then fled the room.


	12. Split

The bear guarded the boy for hours, and the day turned into night, and the night turned into dawn. Twice the boy awoke, and each time the bear would pin his clawing hands down and sacrifice itself to the boys desperate and painful attacks. And each time, the boy's attacks were weaker. The boy was weaker. The third time he slipped back into unconsciousness, he did not wake up again. And the bear knew he could no longer sit quietly and wait.

The bear first tried to drag the boy with him, but the boy was too weak, the action too awkward, and the bear too small too carry him properly. The bear tried to pull the boy across his back, and carry him like that, but the boy's arms and head dangled and scratched on the ground on one side, and his feet on the other. The bear, despite his unusual strength , was lacking in size, and unlike the moose, did not have to proper preportions to carry a person of any size.

The bear was beginning to become quite stressed. His nose could smell the blood dripping from the self inflicted scratches, he could hear the painful rasps of breath, and he could see the many bruises and cuts on the boy's soft skin. He could taste the tears that mingled with the sweat pouring down the boys face as his licked gently at his cheek, comforting. And, terrifyingly, the beast could feel something inside him fading, alongside the boy, and sometimes he felt like quite a regular bear, slower, dumber, but most of all, a mortal feeling struck him, as though he could die at any time.

But even more then all of this, what scared the bear the most, was what he didn't feel. As he lay, pressing his body against the boy's, he all but turned to stone trying to feel the beat of the boys heart. It was so silent, so still - almost as though it was gone. But even so, the boy breathed, and cried, and hurt. He continued to live in a way that shouldn't be possible after his heart stopped, and that terrified the bear.

So the bear made a crucial decision. He knew that the pair could not stay as they were, and he knew the boy desperately needed help. But the bear also knew that he could not take the boy with him. Slowly, almost painfully, the bear stood, and took a few steps away from the boy. For a long time, the bear simply stood, several paces away from the boy, fighting his instincts. His instincts screamed to him that he could not leave the boy alone, and to stay by his side, no matter what. Reason told him that if he did not go, he may not have much the boy by his side much longer.

Finally, like a newborn just learning to walk, the bear put one paw in front of the others, and then another, an suddenly he was moving, away, getting farther and farther from the child. The bear felt an unfamiliar sensation in his eyes and realized he was crying, like the boy had cried. The bear didn't stop. He couldn't. He stumbled blindly away from the small still body lying on the leafy ground.


	13. Search Party

France was desperate. Desperate enough to don camouflage instead of his usual flamboyant uniform and sneak out among the search party. He was sure that the general had noticed him, with his long blonde hair tucked under the helmet, so noticeable against the army's military cut hair, but the man had not said anything, only nodded slightly to him. France was grateful for that, especially as he had been told specifically not to go.

He stood quietly, listening to the two hunters talking with some of the Québécois soldiers. There were lots of residents of Quebec who chose not to fight, and a few like this, who refused to join the army, but set up camp on their own outside the border patrol to protect their home, their way. Unusually, the soldiers respected the hunters who chose to fight separately, and the hunters respected them. They spoke amicably, and one of the hunters laughed, describing his most recent hunt.

France was so absorbed in his thoughts he almost missed what the hunters were talking about. "-une grosse bête blanche-" One of the hunters was animatedly saying, stretching his arms to demonstrate. France felt as though he had been electrocuted. _A big white beast? It couldn't be!_ Wildly, too fast to be causal excitement, he approached the hunters. "Pardon, " he began, "could you please elaborate?" France noticed the Québécois soldiers nearby snap to attention, their shoulders stiffening and backs straightening.

France could almost laugh at himself. How silly he was to think he had snuck out, when cleary they had known who he was from the beginning. Judging from their reactions, their boss had told them to watch him, for better or for worse. France perfered to think that the general had given this order due to France's closeness with Canada, that he might be helpful, and not because France might be a danger. The hunters too, had noticed the soldiers change in attitude, although they couldn't define why, and they spoke cautiously. Warily one of the hunters described the large white beast they had seen while hunting. "It looked like a bear cub", He said in French, "Only I've never seen a white bear, excepting polar bears, and there aren't any of those out here."

France could feel the adrenaline coursing through his viens, and could feel hope building up in his chest and finding its way onto his face. "Which way was that?" he asked, almost quivering with excitement. The hunters both took a step back, put off by this strange soldier's sudden eagerness. The second hunter was the first to respond, gesturing with his arm a little to his right. "That way. There is a little slope, we saw it there. We didn't shoot it though." He added the last part as though to assure the stranger, and France felt relieved at the words.

One of the Québécois soildiers stepped forward, nodding to him. "We will investigate this issue. Merci!" She quickly and efficiently ende the conversation, and then called the soldiers to follow her. In less than 2 minutes, the group was in the nessecary formation and on their way towards the describes slope. France could feel his he racing as he ran. "I'm coming, mon Cher." he whispered to the air.


	14. Country

As the last trace of the bear faded, the space around the child began to move. The wind, though still gentle picked up, swirling. The trees and bushes nearby shook themselves so that the last few leaves fell from their branches like a rain, and the earth softened like to that of a garden bed under the boy. Anyone who had seen what was happening might have said it was magic, or perhaps the work of a spirit, placing a protective spell on the child.

But there was no one there to see it. The leaves that fell from the foliage floated on the air, not a single one hitting the ground. The wind circled in on itself, like a lazy whirlpool, slow, and gentle. And for a moment, there was a sound, like the earth and all that was on it was breathing in unison, a giant sigh, then everything stopped.

The wind died, quietly, and the leaves all fell to the ground at once. It was silent and still as though nothing had ever happened. The earthy ground was covered with a thick layer of leaves, wet and dry mixed together, as though it had been that way for a long time. The wind was nonexistent now, but the trees still whispered.

Perhaps, if a native to land had been there, one who knew the old ways, they would have been able to tell what had happened. Perhaps they would known that it was the lnd itself protecting the child, although they would not have known why. For how could anyone know that a child was the country?

If they had known, they would have been able to understand. The land knew that the boy and the beasts, and the people, and the land were one, and it protected him. Without the land, there could be no people. Without the people, there could be no country. Without no country, there could be no boy, and without the beasts, there could be none of the others.

But there was no one there to see this, no one there to understand. Just the trees, the bushes, and somewhere under the fallen leaves, a boy lay comatose, hidden from the world. For the second time since the country began to crumble, the land protected the fallen boy, hiding him from the outside world.


	15. Foot in Mouth

Denmark hadn't seen the blow coming. One moment he had been minding his business, loudly talking to an indifferent Norway and a clearly bored Iceland, the next, he was on the ground, reeling from the heavy blow to his head. "What the fuck, Denmark?" None of the other Nordics made any move to assist him. In fact, there was a small smile on the edge of Norway's lips, and Iceland looked like he found some good entertainment. Sweden and Finland were also nearby, but Sweden seemed satisfied to watch from afar, and Finland waited patiently to see what Denmark had done this time. Of course, the angry brown-skinned man standing over Denmark had noticed none of this.

Denmark pulled himself to his feet and glared at the other country. "Who the hell are you?" The other man huffed loudly. "I'm Cuba, you ass. I'm a tropical country, so you cold climate countries probably don't know me." He stated this all proudly, seemingly forgetting his anger for a moment. "So?" Denmark was unaffected by Cuba's proud declaration. "What did I do to piss off a tropical country like you?" Cuba's anger reignited. "You asshole! I can't believe you have the nerve to say that after what you did to Canada!"

The pieces clicked into place. Denmark had never actually met the other nation in person, but he had a small rivalry with him over a small uninhabited island, of the coast of Greenland. He had found the Canadian flag on that island enough times that he remembered the name of the one who put it there, always accompanied by a Canadian bottle of whisky. Even so, it wasn't like he was friends with the guy, so why was Cuba being so anal about it? The slight ache on his jaw did nothing to warn Denmark or deter him from saying what he was thinking. If Denmark had been able to read the mood better, or perhaps had simply thought about the situation, he might have thought before he spoke.

Unfortunately for him, he didn't. "So? I barely know the guy, what does it matter if I take some of his land?" At this point, it would have been wise of Denmark to notice the ever growing dark aura around Cuba, and the way the other Nordics retreated to a safe distance away. Of course, he didn't. He continued on, blindly." Besides, isnt that dude missing? It's not like he cares. He's probably disappeared or something anyways-" By this point, Denmark suddenly realized he had gone too far and stopped short. This time he sensed the blow coming, and braced for it, although it didn't come from Cuba as he expected, but instead from behind.

"Don't say that about my friend. " Holland said shortly, stepping forwards, eyes glinting angrily. Although his voice was soft, it sent chills through Denmark's blood, and he froze. "Ugh, just stop-ow!" A loud voice echoed and Denmark turned to see Prussia wrestling to keep a very angry brown haired, brown skinned girl from attacking Denmark. She was cursing in a language that sounded like a mix between French and English, and looked completely comfortable with the idea of clawing Denmark's eyes out. "How dare you!" She hissed, still struggling and reaching for Denmark. "My brother is just fine, I know it, you-" she relapsed into curses again.

Denmark looked timidly at the four countries surrounding him, and for the first time, realized it would have been better to keep his mouth shut.

_*Note*_

_1) : I know that Holland is not the correct term as it only refers to two provinces, but I felt that "Holland" sounded more personal than "The Netherlands". Canada helped The Netherlands gain their independence during world war II_

_2): Seychelles is one of the only characters that recognizes Canada. Because she too was raised by France and England, I have decided she views Canada like a brother _

_3): Denmark and Canada have had a longstanding playful rivalry over a small uninhabited island called "Hans Island". Denmark will periodically replace the Canadian flag and whisky with The Danish flag and some Danish snapps. _


	16. For a Little Brother

England hadn't meant to spy on America's boss. It's true he had snuck over to America's headquarters secretly, without alerting either his or America's government, but it was for a good reason. England knew what France had requested was logical, and that it made sense, but England also knew something about America and Canada France didn't know. England had been the one who had raised the twins, and so only he knew about their bond, one that went beyond words. England knew France would be upset when he learned what he had done, but he also knew that America would be going crazy right now, trying to hide his pain under a smile, aching for his missing brother.

It was true that England hadn't meant to spy on America's boss, but perhaps it was just as well he had overheard the conversation as he snuck by, England reflected. England knew by the conversation that America did not know what they were doing, what they had planned, or he would surely oppose it. England was glad he overheard the conversation, the orders given, if only for America's sake. Poor oblivious America who had no idea what his country planned to make him do.

America may have left England, may have become his own country, but to England he was always his little brother first, and a country second. England knew what he was doing was the right thing, just as he knew that no one around him would approve. Maybe even America himself would disagree, but England didn't care. He would not let America be played and sacrificed like a pawn on the battle feild. And so, when he sneakily broke into America's room moments later, laying a hand gently on America's mouth and whispering the forbidden words, he had no regrets. "America, wake up. We've found him. We've found Canada."

America had woken too fast, and England barely had time to take in the drawn face and dark bags beneath his eyes before America was out of bed, shoes already on, and ready to go. "How is he?" he asked, loudly, desperately. England shook his head, shushing him. "Not here, not now. Come with me, quietly." Normally during a war, America wouldn't be so trusting, England knew. He knew America would usually wary, and guarded. But perhaps from lack of sleep, or some personal weight, or the army's demands, America was both emotionally and physically exhausted, and lonely for his brother. That is why he followed England so easily with no complaint out of his building, sneakily.

This is why he didnt notice England coming up from behind with the chloroformed cloth until it was too late. The chloroform worked together with America's exhaustion and the countries personification was out before he had a chance to fight back. England caught America as his feet gave out, sadly, but England couldn't back down now. With a bit of effort, he loaded America into the small plane, buckled him in a seat, then climbed in the front, started the engine, and took off. The sooner the personification of America disappeared, the safer for them both. So, England stole him away, secretly.


	17. For Canada

Denmark didn't understand why he was pulled into this. It was Greenland who insisted on the rivalry between him and Canada, he didn't even care that much, and he'd never even seen the other in person. However, the several bruises and lumps he had gained from Canada's friend group had finally taught him to keep his mouth shut, so he just threw a furtive glance at Cuba sitting beside him, and said nothing.

Holland was watching him, leaning against the wall. His sharp gaze was unsettling to say the least, but at least he wasn't glaring anymore. Prussia had fallen asleep and was snoring on Seychelles shoulder, as she twisted her hands nervously. All of them were waiting for phone calls from their boss's. Holland's phone was the first to ring, and he answered it quickly. "Yes?" The other countries leaned forwards, eagerly waiting, and Denmark bit back a yawn and tried to pretend he cared, for his own sake. It wasn't like Denmark hated Canada or anything, he just didn't feel like he needed to protect some guy he didn't even know, really.

Holland hung up his phone, and the small relieved smile that spread over his face told the answer clearly. "He said yes." Seychelles clapped with excitement, waking up Prussia who sat up and groggily announced, "I'm awake, I wasn't sleeping!" Cuba didn't even spare him a glance, only grinning and congratulating Holland. "He said they were already thinking of lending assistance." Holland continued quietly. "The Netherlands will do everything we can to help Canada." Not long after, Cuba received his call. He nodded to Holland. "My boss says yes too."

This time, Prussia really was awake, and he grinned. "Good for you!" His face twisted a little, and he muttered to himself. "Wish I could help." Denmark had overheard enough of an earlier conversation on the phone between Prussia and Germany to know what he meant. Germany had specifically forbade any sort of going to war and his boss was refusing to send any sort of assistance. As a country that no longer existed, Prussia had no choice in the matter, and was limited to whatever assistance he could provide with his own two hands. Denmark felt his stomach twist at the idea. Suppose Iceland or Norway where in trouble and he had no way to help them? The idea made him feel a little sick, and he threw a supportive glance towards Prussia.

His own government had been surprised when he submitted a request to leave what was left of Canada alone, but apparently was satisfied with Nunavut and the parts of the Northwest Territories they had already claimed, and after some debate, had decided to honor the request from the personification of the country, and agreed to not attack any further. Denmark felt a little honoured at that. He had never really asked something of his government before, and was satisfied to go along with whatever they requested usually. this show of respect for him touched him, and once again he was reminded about just how much he loved his people.

Finally, the last call came in, towards the end of the day. Seychelles' eyes glittered with tears as she hung up, and she announced, "We cannot provide military support, but my boss," she stopped to wipe her tears. "My boss says we can offer relief to Canadians in need with what food and supplies We can provide." Prussia slapped her on the back, painfully. "What's with the tears! You scared me!" "Yeah, Its a good thing!" Cuba encouraged. "Any help is help." He glared at Denmark. "At least they don't want to claim Canada as their land." Denmark averted his eyes, feeling a little guilty. "I'm just so relieved." she sniffled, wiping her tears. She turned around, reinvigorated. "All right! Let's do this!" She threw a clenched fist into the air. "For Canada!" "FOR CANADA!" everyone echoed, and Denmark hastily joined in, if not a little late.


	18. Next Move

America sat straight up, cursing. He aimed a heavy blow at the blurry shape on the edge of the bed. "England you ass!" The shape deftly dodged, seemly unconcerned. "Ah, glad you're awake. You slept almost all day." England said cooly, his voice unaffected. America felt England's small fingers pushing something, thin and cool into his hands. He took his glasses from the other and slipped them on, before glaring at England, who he could now see." You know it's things like this which is why I revolted." England looked away, though his ears did not have the usual tell-tale blush when he spoke. "It was necessary."

America scowled. "Shove it up yours." He groggily swung his legs out of bed and tested his balance as he stood up. Confident that he wasn't going to faint, he then took off in a rather jagged line across the room, slamming open the door. England was on his feet now, watching him, but didn't make any move to stop him from leaving. Instead, England was watching his face, reading his movements, his actions, in a way only someone who had lived with him, grown up with him, could do. America decided he didn't like that very much and flipped England the bird before stumbling to the bathroom sink for some water.

"So you already knew." England sighed, his words a statement, not a question. America shrugged half-heartedly and took a sip of the water. "It's not that terrible." he said casually, trying to stop the shaking in his tone. "Just dress up as my brother and tell his people to give up." he ignored the tell tale red rims under his eyes in the cracked mirror. He continued. "take a couple bullets and play dead. I'm not a human, so that much won't kill me." It would hurt though, America thought bitterly, in more ways than one. "He won't die. My boss said he has a way-" America broke off, realizing how uncovincing that argument sounded, even to him.

England wasn't in the mood to be sentamental. "Well, I've kidnapped you so it doesn't matter. Let's go." America swallowed and watched England pick up a camouflage bag. "Go where?" He asked cautiously. England tutted as though America had said something stupid. "To get Canada, of course!" He shook his head. "Did you think I was lying?"

America felt himself lighting up from within at the idea of finding his brother. He moved fluidly, with much more ease than his earlier performance had suggested. "Well?" He demanded, pushing past England. "Let's go!"


	19. Just How He Is

"Why do you all try so hard for him?" the question slipped out before Denmark could stop it. "We don't even know if he's still alive." This time, to his surprise, no one tried to kill him, perhaps because of the change of tone, or the situation, or maybe because he has said "we" instead of "you". The party all threw varying versions of pitying looks towards him, as though they felt sorry for him. Holland was the first to speak. "Wouldn't you do this for your friends?" the question cut him to the core. For Norway, or Iceland, or Finland- he knew the answer in an instant. He was still on the fence about Sweden.

Holland sighed, and then continued, as though telling a story. "During World War II, Germany's boss invaded our land. I was helpless, I couldn't do anything. I've always felt that money made the world go round, but at this time, I felt that no matter how much money I have, it would never be enough. It was the most helpless I've ever felt. At that time, it was Canada who sheltered our future Queen, even though I had nothing to offer him. I barely knew him. He's just kind like that. " Holland ended his story with a shrug, as though he hadn't just said the most he'd ever said.

Prussia took up the figural torch." That's just Canada. He's nice for no reason. I didn't know him either, but one time, I was down.." he trailed off, then found the words. "when he found out I was probably going to disappear one day, he dedicated a city in Ottawa, his heart, to me." He swallowed. "I know it's not much, but it's something I didn't have before. And, sometimes, when the fear hits, it gives me a little confidence." He smiled, a little too brightly, and laughed forcefully. "He's just like that."

Cuba looked away. "For me, it's nothing big. He didn't win me a war, or save me some land, but" he took a deep breath, but spoke brashly and unashamed. "It's just fun bein' with him, y'know? I used to confuse him for America all the time, but I couldn't do that know. He's just different." Seychelles was nodding too, agreeing. "yeah. As long as I can remember, he's been my brother." she considered this, then confided in the group.

"When. I first met him, I wanted to hate him." Denmark could see this was news to the others as well. "It's just, he was France's perfect colony, and France never really got over losing him. There's like some kind of invisible wall he feeds with perversion and he won't let anyone get close." The frustration in Seychelles voice resonated with each nation in different ways. Then she sighed." But then I met him. He was different than I expected. He made his own French, he's mostly English and for some reason he just won't stand up for himself. And I got tired of hating him and eventually, I learned more things that weren't perfect about him, and-" She broke off her rant suddenly." It's just how he is. I can't help but like him. "

Everyone in the group nodded, and Denmark had a flashback, where he was complaining to Greenland Bout having to go Ack out to that island again." you don't even know if actually went there and replaced the flag and liquor again. " Denmark had scolded." He's got to get bored of it every year." Greenland had shook his head, undaunted. "No, he went, I know. It's just how he is."

Cuba turned to look at Denmark. "So? D'ya understand yet?" Denmark grinned and laughed helplessly. "Not at all!" He stood up and brushed his clothes off. "well, I'm going home now. You should go too, right?" he threw a blinding smile over his shoulder. "After all, you have a war to fight." and Denmark threw open the door and strode out with large purposeful steps. No one moved to stop him, and as he moved further away, the forced smile began to disappear. "It doesn't matter to me anyways." Denmark muttered, as though convincing himself.


	20. Lost and Found

France stopped short, not moving, and stared at the white polar bear standing before him. The Quebecois soldiers, had fallen back when the mystical bear had appeared out of the fog, and all of them stood watching France, for their next move. The bear, too was watching France, with a look in its eye France couldn't define. Almost a heartbroken look, as though the bear was lost, as though the bear had lost something important. France sunk to one knee to better look the bear in the eyes. "Kumajiro." He said softly, and something rang in the bear's heart, awakening a memory from long ago.

Something in the word resonated with the bear, and he realized with a chill that it was his own name he was hearing. France saw the look of recognition glitter across the bears eyes, and spoke slowy. "Where is he?" The bear's eyes widened, and he backed up, bristling slightly. Something told him that this man was powerful, and it scare the bear. He knew deep inside, that this man had the power to save the boy, or destroy him. What the bear didn't know was if he could trust him.

France recognized the hesitation, and understood. He raised a hand, and placed it lightly on the bear's nose. The soldiers nearby gasped, and some stiffened, grips tightening on their guns, just in case. Almost too fast, Kumajiro opened his mouth and brought his crushing Jaws together on Frances hand, stopping just short of biting it off. France didn't flinch, raising his other hand to stop the other soldiers from shooting, as several had readied their guns. "He is dying, Kumajiro." France spoke slowly. "If we don't find him, we cannot 'elp him."

Slowly, the bear opened its mouth and released France's hand, never breaking eye contact. To France, the message was clear. "Hurt him, and I will destroy you." He nodded to the bear, and it turned lumbering back in the direction it came, moving swiftly, and checking several times to make sure France was still following. One of the soldiers offered France some gauze to wrap his hand, but France waved him off with his injured hand. "It is ok. It is already healing.' And true enough, the wounds were already closing up, the bloodflow lessening.

The soldier stumbled back, giving France a look, though whether it was filled with fear or awe, France couldn't tell. The soldiers exchanged a exchanged looks, then followed France silenty. When they finally stopped, they were in a clear area, with a few bare bushes and leafless trees, and nothing but heaps of dead leaves covering the ground. The bear stopped seemingly satisfied, and rubbed its back on a nearby tree, more to ease its nerves than anything. For the first time the soldiers spoke.

" there's nothing here." One said boldly, speaking directly to the bear. The bear simply stared hard at her in response. "Non." France breathed, distantly. "He is here. Can't you feel it?" The sodleirs stiffened as an unnatural breeze seemed to curl around them and blow through the area, before dispersing, leavingrg only a faint maple scent behind. France felt his eyes drawn to the pile of leaves in the centre, and he approached it slowly, reverently. He brushed the leaves away, breathlessly, and caught his breath deeply when the leaves fell away, revealing a small little boy with a single unruly curl, barely the size of an average five year old. "Sacré bleu." He murmured to himself.

His fingers trembles, and he hovered his hand only inches above the tiny boy's face. He was so close, he could touch him-but France stopped himself, pulling his hand back, and standing up and stepping back. He nodded to the squad leader. "I leave him in your 'ands." He said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "He is your country, and you are his people." France knew that it was safest for Canada to be supported by his people and draw strength from them, rather than another country. The squadron leader looked amazed, but reverently knelt and scooped up the young child, before nodding to the rest of the squad, signalling them to go back. The bear fell in line behind.

It wasn't until France stepped into his personal tent, and saw England and America waiting for him there, that he finally let the tears escape, and gave them a watery smile, whispering "We found him. We found Canada."


	21. Traige

"How is he?" The question was breathlessly asked by England and America in unison. France fell into a chair and sighed. "Sleeping. They cannot find why 'e is not waking up." America looked devastated. "No!" He fought back tears. "He can't-" He gasped, trying to convey his feelings without using the forbidden word, tears gathering at the edge of his vision. "Shhh." England soothed, wiping America's eyes with his sleeve. "It's okay, he's going to fine." America cast a doubtful look at England through his wet eyes, and England was quick to reassure that they were not just empty words.

"You don't know, because you had me protecting you while you grew, but its normal for nations." England explained. "When you get weak, or lose a lot of land mass, the country will put you to sleep as your body changes to match the land mass. It also helps so you don't go into shock from pain." England advised. "Don't you remember how Canada grew much slower than you and Australia did? Canada is just growing smaller to match the land. He will be fine. " France nodded encouragingly to Americva from across the room. "Oui. Both England and I did this at least once. 'e will be fine."

Despite his strong words, France looked drawn, as though he'd not not slept in several days, his clothing was rumpled and his hair was carelessly pulled back, to the point where America had barely regonizedbhim when he entered the tent. America wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, and asked, almost shyly, "Can I see him?" France pursed his lips, but the answer came from a man in a general's uniform at the mouth of the tent who had entered silently.

He spoke in a québécois French accent. "Unfortunately, we cannot allow the personnifications of any country to see Canada at this time. He sent a hard glance towards America. "especially any country we are at war with." All the countries seemed to deflate at this news, Ann England shook his head, laughing lightly. "Ah, of course. I understand," The man cut him off. "Officially, of course." he smiled. "However, the immediate family of one 'Mathew Williams' are certainly welcome to visit."

France snapped his head up. "you can't mean-" The man stepped to the side of the tent, gesturing to the opening. "If Alfred Jones, Arthur Kirkland and Francis Bonnefey would please follow me." France was crying again, wiping tears from his eyes, uncaring for his appearance, and America looked like he might follow suit. England pushed himself to his feet, moving swiftly, and the others followed closely behind.

The tiny, still form on the bed shuddered as they entered, but made no other sign of life. Francis rushed and grabbed his hand, crying, overcome with emotions. America claimed the other hand, while England seated himself at the head of the bed, combing through Canada's wavy hair with one hand.

England gazed sadly at the tiny country, now much the same size as when he was only one of England's colonies. "I should never have told you to go be independent," England whispered, conflicted feeling showing on his face. "I should have kept you, and protected you."

America snapped his head up, glaring at England's words. "He wouldn't have been happy if you did that!" he shot back. "He would just feel as though he wasn't good enough for you." He twined his finger into his brother's tiny hands. "He was so happy when you made him independent, it was nearly overpowering." America scoffed, remembering the warmth that had flooded the bond, nearly knocking America out with the sudden euphoria.

America would never admit it, but he knew ever since that day, England had been Canada's idol. It should have been him, who won his independence first, but then Canada went and earned his independence without any fighting and suddenly America's big fight seemed so pointless. America was still bitter about it.

"Oui." France agreed, giving England a rather bitter look. "Mon petite Canada was so 'appy when you recognized him." He sighed to himself. "Oh, what I would 'ave given up to stay by his side as he grew." he said the words wistfully. "Canada was so sweet and cute, mon petit cher, always calling me "big brother" and clinging to me." He smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the back of Canada's hand. "He still hasn't changed."

America was not to be outdone. "Well, Canada always followed me everywhere! and when England went out and left us alone all the time, Canada would cook stuff for me, and -" He choked on his words. America bent his head against his brother's hand. So many times he'd taken his brother for granted flashed through his mind, and memories of times Canada had supported him when he needed it most. America swallowed hard. "I won't let him do it. I won't let my boss destroy you." But those words were empty, America knew. Because a country cannot force their boss to stop anything. He tried again, in little more than a whisper." I won't help him. I won't do what he's asked."

England glanced nervously at the infirmary doorway, and not seeing anyone there, pulled out his wand. America tensed. "What are you-"England hushed him. "I'm going to wake him up." France moved to the doorway. "I'll keep watch." he move quickly, with obvious confidence in England's magic skills. America had seen England use magic before, of course when he was younger, but it had been so long he chose to believe it was fake.

Yet somehow, before his eyes, England was glowing, and he waved his wand and a stream of light seemed to hit Canada, who glowed briefly. England swayed, but France moved quickly and caught him, steadying him. All eyes turned to the bed. Slowly, the boys eyelashes fluttered, then his eyes blinked open. The boy's Violet eyes took in his surroundings quietly, before settling on each of the countries one at a time.

For a moment, there was silence, then, ever so softly, the boy whispered a question. "Who are you?"


	22. To Battle

"So, this is where we part ways, I guess." Cuba shoved his hands in his coat pockets. Seychelles nodded, eyes shining with determination. "Then you and your troops are going to Saskatchewan?" "And Holland is going to protect BC and Alberta." Holland simply nodded mutely in agreement. "Hey!" Prussia loudly interjected. "Don't forget me! I'm going to help too!" He grinned, gesturing to his truck full of food and supplies from Seychelles. "The awesome me is going to drive all this down and deliver it to those who need it!" Prussia was nearly vibrating with the excitement of helping with his own two hands.

Seychelles laughed, and the serious mood disapated. She poked Prussia in the chest. "You be careful! I don't want you to crash! You don't have a nation anymore! Be careful!" Prussia saluted. "Of course." Her smile faded. "can you still.." She trailed off. He shrugged casually, but the mood had turned serious again. "Feel New Prussia?" Prussia finished easily, referring to the small Ontario town Canada had dedicated to him. "yeah, but its okay." he shrugged. "It's not like it hurts or anything. As long as its still dedicated to me." He laughed. "After all, I'm still the Awesome Me!"

Prussia slapped Seychelles on the back. "Well, good luck! You're going to find your brother, right?" He climbed into he truck and started it up, waving to Seychelles. "hopefully we'll all meet again!" "Don't say it like that!" Cuba scolded. "We'll meet again!" Holland nodded agreeably. "All of us, Canada too." Holland said shortly. "Hear!" Cuba cheered, and Prussia and Seychelles quickly joined in.

As the truck drove away, Seychelles took a deep breathe. She knew that France was in Quebec, and so that was the best place to start. After all, France would never stop looking until he found Canada.

...

"I'm sorry, we can't. " Denmark repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time, although it was only the fifteenth time, if he was keeping count correctly. Greenland brushed large angry tears out of his eyes. "If I had an army, I could go myself!" He argued, hopelessly. "You don't need to do anything, just, let me have some soldiers, I'll take them under my name, I'll provide for them, I'll-" Denmark cut him off with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Green." He cut the tanned young man off firmly but gently. He shook his head. "With what supplies? Are you saying you want to go independent just to join a war?" Greenland hung his head, realizing all his supplies came from Denmark. "But-" Greenland offered one last hopeful plea.

"Greenland." Denmark said again, and Greenland wilted. Denmark continued, gently. "Listen, We can't help Canada, but we have a responsibility now to look after the people who live in the lands we have taken. There are ex-Canadians who are suffering because of this war." Greenland was watching him closely, clearly not understanding were he was going with this. "We owe it to Canada to take care of them." He gave a half-smile to Greenland, his usual boisterous attitude beginning to shine through. "Would you help me to provide supplies to those in need?" Greenland was already regaining his light hearted attitude, perking up almost immediately. "I would like that." He responded, a smile spreading across his face. Denmark help out his hand to Greenland, and the other grasped it eagerly, shaking his hand firmly.


	23. Facade

"Oh shit." America recognized the voice arguing with the General. He ducked into the nearest tent, pulling France and England with him. France threw him a look. England was stiff, eyes sharp, clearly also recognizing the voice. "That's my boss!" America gasped. "He knows!" France also gasped at this, flinching. "Mon Dieu, it can't be! He can't know you're here!" Almost as though to directly contradict France's words, America's boss's voice rose, loudly declaring "I know he's here!" America could feel something like a thin layer of ice coating his stomach from the inside. It was all over. His boss was going to take him back, and make America- he swayed slightly, feeling nauseas as a sudden thought occurred to him. What if his boss found out about Canada? His brother-the very one that they were trying to destroy-lay all but helpless, weak and confused only a few tents away.

England as always was quick to access the situation and take charge. England gave France a meaningful look. "I'll stall, you take care of this." The "this" in question was the shaken and pale America. France seemed to actually gain confidence, eyeing America up and down with a critical eye. "What-" America started to ask, but France whisked away, whispering a short "stay here". He reappeared in mere moments, and America recognized the faded tan jacket that France was holding. "Here, put this on." America drew back, his boss's orders ringing in his ears. "You want me to dress up as Canada?" America all but spat at France. France's eyes widened at the accusation, and America could tell that England had told him what America's boss was trying to do. "Non, non, it is not like that!" France soothed. "We are in Canada, it makes sense for Canada to be 'ere. We are only hiding you in plain sight." Realizing France's plan, America relaxed.

In what seemed like moments to France and an eternity to America, he was finally dressed, the small hand mirror Francis brought showing a reflection almost the exact copy of Canada. Francis frowned, eyeing him up and down. "Your eye colour is wrong." he muttered under his breath. "as for the curl..." Francis picked his figer and before America could react, twirled one of America's hair's around his finger. It held the curl shape for a moment, before snapping back into place. France "tsked" at this, and finally decided to use the goggles Canada always wore to cover the lack of a curl. America swallowed past the lump in his throat. He'd always thought he and Canada looked alike, but at this moment, nothing felt farther than the truth. He felt like an imposter in his own skin. Despite France's declaration that "You look just like him now!" America couldn't shake the feeling he was only a poor copy of his brother. The way he stood wasn't right, the way he spoke wasn't right, the way he walked, and looked at things wasn't right. His face twisted into a bitter expression.

France didnt give him a chance to dwell on this thought, grabbing America around the shoulders and steering him outside. "Don't say anything unless you have to, oui?" France commanded in America's ear. America found it was easy to comply, as his mouth went dry when he saw his boss arguing with England, who was holding his own and being condescending while he was at it. America tried to walk like his brother, dropping his shoulders and trying to seem cowed and weak, dipping his head. Standing before his boss, seeing his already triumphant grin and remembering his boss's order, It wasn't hard for America to cower. "So you did kidnap America." His boss said accusingly, voice ringing with confidence that he held the high ground. America wilted a little more under his boss's words. "We did no such thing!" England responded smartly. "This is clearly Canada." America wanted to cringe at England's bold declaration. Surely his boss would see right through that, there's no way he would accept it. His boss frowned, face twisting as he realized that he had suddenly lost his whole argument. America's heart skipped a beat as he realize his boss had bought the lie.

His boss's face was no longer triumphant, but after a moment a sly look slid across his face. "Then, can you tell me why is the personification of England, France, and Canada all here together?" He asked, latching on the strange fact. America froze. It made sense that 'Canada' and France were there, but not England. With a sinking feeling, America realized that their façade was only moments from breaking, and he was sure his boss knew it too.

"I'm not the personification of England, I'm Arthur Kirkland." England said boldly, unaffected by the other's attack. If anything, England found the attempts to get under his skin laughable. America's boss was not about to give up, and America realized with a jolt that he was probably aiming to kidnap Canada once England was gone. His boss knew Canada was weak from the war, and with only France to protect him, he should be an easy target. "So if I call your - sorry, _England's_ \- boss, they can provide me proof that England is there right now?" America's boss fired viciously at England. America was sweating, scared. They would take him back and make him- "Of course." He cast wide eyes at England, who was smiling confidently. America could see the edges of England's lip turning up into a smirk. America's boss took these words sourly, and backed up a distance away before pulling out his phone and dialling it.

If France hadn't subtly nodded, America might have missed it. As America's boss spoke on the phone, England twirled a wand behind his back. America could tell by the look on his boss's face that whatever England had done had worked. "Bullocks." England sighed, looking mildly upset as America's boss wearily headed back their way. "Now mum will know I snuck out."


	24. Treason

When Seychelles saw the French soldiers carrying the large box, she hadn't thought much of it. That is, until there was a muffled thump from the inside, a repeated banging noise. It was curiosity that drove her to follow the soldiers, dressed in the Québec-Canadian military uniforms. She followed them secretly, using the skills she had learned from Canada to erase her presence.

It wasn't until one of the soldiers stumbled, almost dropping the box and cursing in a distinctly American accent, that Seychelles knew something was wrong. She moved quickly, and the soldiers didn't stand a chance against her superhuman strength. In seconds, both lay unconscious on the ground. With quick hands, Seychelles ripped the wooden top off the box. The gagged child inside stared up at her with fearful eyes. Seychelles caught her breath. She hd never known her brother at this size, but somehow he knew this was him. She pulled the gag away quickly, gathering him to her chest, untying his hands.

As soon as he was free the boy pushed at her, fighting to get away. "Canada, its me!" She soothed, softly grabbing his clawing hands. "It's your sister." Canada froze at these words, and when he spoke, his voice was trembling. "I want to go back." He whimpered. Seychelles felt her face harden with anger, and thought she would like to do something worse to the kidnappers, but only picked Canada up and walked back towards the camp. "Is France here?" She asked him softly. He buried his face in her shoulder and nodded mutely.

None of the soldiers stopped her when she walked into he camp with the tiny nation on her shoulders. None of them even seemed to acknowledge the pair, and Seychelles was glad for this fact. Somewhere in the middle of the camp, a distraught wail rose, and Seychelles recognized the voice and followed it, quickening her pace. When she reached the tent where the cry came from, she heard more upset voices along with the first. She recognized them all. How could she not? America, the loudest country, and Canada's brother. France, both her and Canada's parental figure, and England, the one who raised Canada most of his life. She knew all of them well.

"I should have knew!" France cursed in French, and Seychelles flinched at the language used. England too, was cursing. "That man was only keeping us busy, it was a ruse the whole time!" His voice was bitter, but there was a shaky undertone to it, betraying deeper emotions. America's voice was broken and weak. "It's over. We've lost him. He'll... to Canada..." He broke off with a choked sob. Seychelles waited, and hearing no other voice inside the tent, slipped in herself, quietly. "It's not over." She announced, strongly but without raising her voice, and all three countries turned widely to look at her.

"They don't have Canada." France was the first to recognize her, and it was only his soft cry that stopped the frenzied America from attacking her. "Seychelles." France barely breathed, but his eyes were not on her, but the small child clinging to her neck. She noticed this, and felt a small twang at her heart, but pushed it aside. Right now her brother's safety was more important. She met France's gaze equally. "We can't talk here." She said seriously, taking a few steps back. "Come with me." She retreated from the tent, and America lunged after her, desperately. "No, don't take Canada away!" The word tore from America's lips almost against his will, and Seychelles could see the fear in his eyes.

She froze, unwilling to let go of the boy in her arms, but the child stirred, reaching out his chubby arms to America. America moved closer to receive him and Seychelles let him go, watching carefully. As Canada settled into America's arms, both seems to relax, and she could all but see the tension flowing out from America's shoulders, his eyes filling with relief. It was England who brought them back to the presence with his sharp, tense question. "What's going on?"

Seychelles was jolted back to reality, and she gestured for them to follow her and led them away from the camp, behind a boulder that provided a wall between them and prying eyes. "I'll explain everything." She whispered urgently. "But it's no longer safe here." She stared hard at France, trying to communicate her seriousness. Her pulse pounding with adrenaline. "There's traitors in your midst."


	25. Drifting Away

_The boy was floating. It was so relaxing, he felt so light, so untethered. He didn't know what he would see when he opened his eyes, he didn't care. It was so peacefull, as he was. He was so comfortable, simply floating, no regard to when or where or why. He felt as though he could stay, eyes closed, floating peacefully forever. There was no need to open his eyes, no need to move, nothing to disturb him, no one to call to him. _

_And yet, what was that noise? Softly at first, it was barely noticeable, but then it grew, despite the volume never changing, until he could hear nothing but that noise. At first he thought he could ignore it, but it only got more and more noticeable, till finally, his eyes flew open. He was laying in water, was the first thing he noticed. Water that was neither warm nor cool, only there. His hair was floating in the water, light and uncumberson. The space around him was completely white, unstained by colour, nothing to mark the difference between the sky and the ground. Such a perfect place. And yet, that sound continued, every moment it grew more grating, more iratating. _

_Reluctantly he sat up, and his hair flopped wetly against his neck, and dripped down his wet back. He suddenly became aware of his arms, now so heavy at his side, and he forced himself to stand up entirely. His body felt too heavy, too awkward, like he was in someone else's body. The noise drew his attention again, and he turned slowly to see, on a shore no less white than the sky, next to the oh-so-clear creek, flowing softly, an hourglass. Almost subconsciously, he reached to adjust his glazes, then stopped. Why would he be wearing glasses? He had perfect vision, after all._

_He shook the thought out of his head, and approached the hourglass. It was much bigger than he initially thought, towering over him as he got closer. It was leaking, ever so slowly, a fine white sand into the lower half. There, he finally saw what was the causing the noise. A man, who appeared to be around 19 or 20 was curled up inside, surrounded by the sand, sniffling. His head was ducked, and his shoulders bent, the picture of misery. The boy was curious now, and no longer agrravated by the noise._

_He put his hand to the glass. "excuse me," He began, his own voice sounding pathetically small against the great white space. "Why are you crying?" the man in the hourglass, froze and slowly lifted his head to face the boy. Tears spilled from his violet eyes behind his glasses, and a single curl waved freely with his head movement. The sand continued to fall around the man, piling up, as though to cover him, but the man seemed oblivious to his oncoming end. He made no move to answer the boy's question, only stared at him hopelessly. _

_The more the boy stared at him, the more familiar he seemed, as though he should know this person from somewhere. "Who are you?" The boy asked again. For a moment it seemed like the man would not answer this question either, but then, in a soft, yet echoing voice, the man repeated the question back. "Who are you?" the boy was beginning to frown. The water was dripping down his back and tickling uncomfortably, and he felt so heavy and tired. "I don't know." The boy answered. The man smiled, sadly, as though he had been expecting this answer. "We're the same." He said simply. _

_The boy put his hand to the glass of the hour glass and noticed his reflection for the first time. The man, stood up mimicking his motion, and also touched the hourglass. The boy's eyes widened as his own reflection lined up perfectly with the man's inside. Every facial feature, from the eyes, to the nose, to the lips, all matched up. As though they were the same person. He dropped his hand in shock. "Do you see?" the man said softly, dropping his own hand. "It's like that." _

_The sand was piling over his thighs now, reaching his waist. The boy felt a sudden terror, a fear he'd never felt before. "The sand!" he said urgently. "You'll drown!" The man nodded, sagely, unafraid. "We're running out of time." The boy slammed his hand against the edge of the glass, sharply, but the glass was unaffected. "It won't break!" He pleaded, tears escaping unwanted, mingling with the streams of water dripping from his hair to his face. "Of course not." The man responded. "The sands of time have been turned back. I can't come out anymore." _

_"then what do I have to do so you can come out?" the boy begged, desperately. The man tipped his head sadly, and smiled pitifully. "But you know," He responded in a low voice, "The only way for me to come out if for you to take my place." The boy faltered. He was much smaller than the man, he knew, and would drown much faster. He knew that, but still- "I'll do it!" he said, his voice trembling. "I don't want you to die!" The man put his hand on the glass where the boy rested his once more. "Can you answer a question for me?" the boy was shaking now, with fear, with the force of unshed tears, with emotions his small body couldn't handle. "Oui." He responded, lasping into French. The man met his eyes evenly as he asked the question._

_"Who am I?"_


	26. Something is Breaking

The air was still as Seychelles snapped her phone shut. Her voice wa thick with tears, but her eyes were determined when she turned to the other three countries. "That was Prussia." she said shakily. "Holland and his troops in BC were defeated." She swayed a little, and France grabbed her arm to steady her, pulling her down into the mossy ground beside him. England opened his mouth as though to say something, then snapped it shut again. No-one had any words to offer in this situation. They all knew it was no one's fault, that there was nothing that could be done.

Despite this, America could barely swallow past the lump of guilt in his throat. He felt as though he was drowning in shame. He knew it wasn't his fault, that he couldn't stop his boss, but still couldn't seem to detach himself from the cause of the issue. He took a small satisfaction in the phantom pains that had left him bedridden with fever all day, alongside Canada. He had woken up only a half hour ago, and still could not gather the strength to stand on his shaky legs. Canada had. Jto yet woken up. America couldn't help but wonder if the phantom pains was his punishment for what he had done to his brother, just like back in 1812.

Seychelles spoke again, breaking America out of his reverie. "You should go, America." The words hit him like a train engine full of bricks, and he recoiled at the words. France snapped his head up from where he was tending to Canada, putting a cool cloth on his for head to ease the fever. "It is not 'is fault!" France cried out, eyes wide at her harsh words. America fought the tears welling in his eyes and England also defended him. "You know as well as I, America has no choice in the matter!" England's voice was sharp at the unfair request, and drawn due to the constant stress of war. He wants young anymore, and no longer was trying to fight and conquer the world. Instead, England was trying his best to protect what's left of one country, and was failing.

Seychelles drew back at the rebuke. "That's not what I meant!" She hurriedly defended herself. "Prussia said That Russia has allied himself with the United States. She said these words timerously, much as though she was hoping that Prussia would pop out of a nearby bush and shout "Syke! It was all a bad joke!". But Prussia did not pop out of a bush saying it was a prank, and America had his eyes fixed on her, hanging into her every word like they were his lifeline. She forced herself to meet America's eyes as she said the next part. "America, he's looking for you."

"Looking for America?" England echoed. "But why?" "He thinks America is being held captive by us." she responded, bitterly. This new information settled like a blanket of fresh snow on the group, leaving the air cold between them. "Then he 'as to go alone." France summarized. "To meet Russia." America too, was realizing the situation. "Yeah." he agreed. "If anyone goes with me he won't believe me." America forced himself to his feet. "I'm gojng to go to BC where Russia is." He decided, already reaching for his few belongings and gathering them up.

"If he comes here, he'll conquer what's left of Canada to get here, and if Canada looses anymore..." He didn't finish his sentence, but everyone understood the solemn implication. "But, what will you do?" England pressed, worriedly. "I'm going to try to convince Russia to help us." America responded, in a stronger and more confident tone than he had used since they found Canada. "But what if you can't?" France asked the question they all were thinking. America's face tightened a little.

"That's not an option." America said stiffly. He threw his bg over his shoulder and half turned to face the group. "Besides, you don't know Russia like I do." He stopped by Canada, where he lay unconscious, and threw a forlorn glance towards his brother's still form. "I'll be back soon, bro." He said softly, unusual for the loud country. "So you'd better be awake and waiting when I come back." There was no answer from Canada,aand America couldn't help but feel that something was breaking as he turned his back squarely to the camp and set his feet towards the west, where Russia was.


	27. Last Stand

The bear stood protectively over the boy as he slept. No matter how calm and safe the area seemed, the bear was determined not to make the same mistake again. This time, no one would steal the boy away while he slept. The boy moved, in his sleep, and seemed ito murmur. "Kuma." The words came like a breath, and the bear understood what was needed. He pushed his nose into the boy's hand, and he could feel something like energy transferring from him to the boy. The boy's form glowed, changing shape, growing larger, older. As the boy grew, the bear shrank, now around the size of an average house cat.

Finally, his eyes snapped open, and he sat up, now a fully grown man. He stumbled weakly to his feet, scooping the bear in to his arms. Voices echoes from a camp nearby, and Canada walked to the circle. Seychelles was the first to notice him, and she froze, eyes wide, mouth open. France foowe her line of sight and aslo turned to stone, breathing his name. "Canada." England dropped his tea, spilling all over the ground and his pants, and burning his skin, but for once, England paid no attention to his tea.

"Take me to Quebec." Canada's quiet voice was full of determination. France was the first to unfreeze, finding his feet, and reaching a hand out shakily to touch Canada's face. "Mon chère." He murmured, tears gathering in his eyes. A small smile crossed Canada's face. "Sacré Papa, it's me." He whispered, and was engulfed in a hug. France tucked his head into Canada's neck, breathing the familiar sent of maple syrup. He was pulled off of Canada by England. "You twat!" England scolded. "Get off him, you'll suffocate him!" No sooner that France was removed then England took his place.

"You git!" England scolded. "Why did you go missing? Do you have any idea how worried I was? I gave you your independence because I thought you could take care of yourself, but then you go and disappear!" England rambled, but his words were skaking with tears. Canada leaned into the hug and accepted the scoldings happily. Seychelles shifted, awkwardly, feeling as though she didn't belong. She couldn't help but feel that America should be here, not her. She considered silently sneaking away, but was stopped by someone grabbing her hand.

She jerked her head up to meet Canada's eyes, wide and startled. Canada offered her a tentative smile, awkwardly holding open his arms. She hesitated. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "America should be here, not me." Canada pulled her into his arms, gently pulling her close. "I'm glad you're here. After all, you're my precious little sister." Seychelles flushed red, but returned the hug. After what seemed like a long time, yet not long enough, Canada pulled away. "Britain," He said softly, meeting England's eyes. England gave him his full attention. Canada turned his gaze to France, then Seychelles. "France, Seychelles, I need your help."

Again, Canada repeated his request. "Please take me to Quebec. All three exchanged glances, remembering the traitors, but no one refused. England gathered his jacket." Well, then." he stated, meaning "Let's go." Canada strode bravely into the center of the camp, head up and back straight. All eyes turned to him as he walked. The General emerged from his tent at the commotion and stopped short at the sight of Canada, trailing thre other countries behind. He gave France a hard look, and France dipped his head in deference to the man.

Canada stopped in the middle of the camp. He turned to the crowd and spoke, his voice quiet, but clear. "I am Canada." His voice carried over the whole camp. The General moved deliberately, a stood in front of Canada, sizing him up. Then the general put a hand over his heart and began to sing. "Oh Canada..." The whole camp instantly joined in, some people later than others, some hasilty rising to their feet, but singing from their hearts. Canada blinked tears from his eyes as the song ended. "Protégera nos foyers et nos droits!" "We will protect our homes and our rights."

Canada waited till the last strains of the song had died out to speak. "I have something to announce. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sealed official document." He cleared his throat. "A long time ago, I received this document from my boss-the prime minister" He began, correcting himself. "He gave me permission to use this if the situation arose and I deemed it necessary." He swallowed, and all the soldiers watched his every move. "This is the UK." Canada directed their attention to England, who, although taken off guard, polightly nodded to the crowd. Canada gestured to France. "This is the country France, and the Republic of Seychelles. He guestured to Seychelles too.

He broke the seal on the document he held, opening it." This document has already been signed by Cuba, Denmark, Seychelles and of course, I convince America to sign it just last year." Canada continued, now staring directly at England. "I hope you'll approve this as well." Seychelles recognized the document with a gasp, and took a step back. "What are you doing, brother?" she whispered to herself. "France, I hope you'll guide Québec in the future, like you guided me once." Canada said to France

France felt a sudden fear taking over him, unexplained, yet undeniable. He wanted to rush to Canada and pull him away, to wrap him in his arms, to protect him. But France knew he was being ridiculous. After all, Canada was not in danger right now. He was surrounded by his people, in the safest place in his land, standing confident and strong. Yet, France could tell by England's taunt face that he was the only one feeling the wasn't until Canada said this next words that France finally understood the feeling of dread in his stomach.

But by then, it was too late.


	28. Something Has Broken

"America!" Cuba yelled angrily, clearing at the offending country. "What are you doing here?" America felt sure that if he was able to, Cuba would have launched himself at America's throat and taken him out with the sheer force of his hatred alone. Cuba looked as though he would very much like to do so, but he was bound tightly, hand and foot, and chained to the pole of a large flagpole erected in the middle of Saskatchewan.

"Where is he?" America asked tiredly, referring to Russia. Cuba scowled, uninclined to answer, but the response came from behind him. "America!" America felt the strong arms wrap around him and barely caught his breath before Russia squeezed hard enough to crack two of his ribs. America tried his best not to puke on Russia's shoes when he was released. "I've come to save you!" Russia said happily, looking innocently excited to see America. America wheezed for a moment and found his voice.

"I didn't need to be saved." He complained, his tone edged with tension. Immediately he saw Russia's gaze sharpen, and although the smile remained huge and beaming, there was a calculating look behind it. "You are not kidnapped?" Russia queried, tipping his head. Technically he _had _been kidnapped by England, but America decided not to mention that. Russia was wstching his reaction, gauging the truth of the situation. "No. I came here by myself." America said simply.

He met Russia's gaze with an equally sharp gaze, making a serious face that only countries who had face him in war knew. "But your boss said differently. " Russia pressed. "I don't understand. Why would you help the side you are fighting?" There was a strange note in Russia's voice as he asked the question, alluding to a deeper inquiry than it first appeared. America knew that how he answered this question would decide whether or not Russia helped him. For a moment, America debated the answer to Russia's unspoken question. _Why would you go against your boss? _ Finally, America decided to go with the simple truth.

"I'm not going to be the president's dog any longer." He responded, his tone harsh and cold. "Maybe I can't go against his words, and I've done what I was told so many times before, but not this time." America could feel the anger towards his boss growing in his chest. "At the very least, this time I won't do what he said." He hesitated, his voice softening at the next words. "Because Canada is my brother." Russia's eyes were no longer the round, innocent mask he usual put on, and the ever present beam had vanished from his face.

For once, Russia showed his true face,cold, calculating, and intimidatingly smart. He spoke carefully. "As Russia, I cannot help you go against your boss. As a country, I cannot break this alliance." America's response was just as careful. "What about as a friend?" "Da." Russia responded after a moments deliberation. "For a friend, I will." Before America could find out what Russia planned to do, there was a cheer from the soldiers, and America turned to see, far in the distance, a plume of smoke rising, and with a shout from Russia's General, a soldier ran to the flagpole Cuba was cjained too, and despite Cuba's vicious kicking and cursing, the flag went up.

As soon as the Russian flag reached the top of the pole, America fetl the pain begin. He didn't realize when he collapsed, biting tightly on his cheek to stop from screaming. America felt like a million pins were being pushed through each of his nerve endings, and all of his bones were simultaneously splinttering. He didn't realize he had bitten threw his cheek until he choked on the blood flowing from the wound. It was all America could do to keep from screaming. He was vaguely aware of Russia shoving something thick and leather in between his teeth to keep him from further injuries.

After a moment, America managed to regain his sense, pushing himself to his feet. He knew the pain of war very well, and was more familiar with it than his brother, and could bear it better. Even so, his legs trembled, and if not for Russia offering his arm to lean on, America would have fallen again. Tears were now rolling freely down America's face. As the tears turned into full cries, Russia wrapped his arms gently around his friend, hesitantly, and America fell brokenly into Russia's arms. He sobbed as he clutched at his coat. "I can't stop him. Please, please stop the president, before its too late."

America knew he was showing his weakness, and was painfully aware of his pathetic state, but he didn't care. "Québec is all that's left of Canada." The words America spoke were hwvay with emotion, and America couldn't fight the feeling of terror that struck him, or ignore the thought that he might not see his brother again. Except for the blood still flowing from his injured cheek, the pain was completely gone.

Instead, a strange feeling came through the bond, like static, a fuzzy, undefined feeling. He knew Russia understood what he meant by the way his eyes widened when he breathed the next word.

"Canada."


	29. And It All Falls Down

Without giving any of his family a chance to process this information, Canada began to read the document. Seychelles barely heard anything, only one sentence he read ringing in her mind. "I, Canada, officially recognize Quebec as an independent country." He said a lot more of official information, recited important names and the Prime Minister's signature, and turned to France and England to have them recognize Quebec as well. Seychelles could here Canada talking sofy to convince them, but it sounded far away, as though through a fish tank.

She remembered when Canada had sat down and discussed this with her, and requested her approval. At the time, perhaps because she was such a small country herself, she had been quick to approve. The Quebecois soldiers surrounding them broke into a cheer, and Seychelles grabbed Canada by the sleeve and pulled him away, to a private tent. "What are you thinking?" She demanded, upset. Canada responded with a smile. "Québec has been asking for independence for a long time. I'm approving it."

England had a sad look in his eyes, understanding what Canada had done and the consequences, but unable to rebuke him. "But if Québec goes independent, then if Saskatchewan falls-" Seychelles didn't finish her sentence. France muffled a sob in his hands. "It won't fall." England cut in, his voice firm with belief. "America is on his way there now to stop Russia. He'll protect Saskatchewan." Canada dropped to the floor heavily, Kumajiro wiggling out of his grip. France rushed to him with a cry. "It's too late." Canada said softly, brokenly. "America bore the pain for me so I could make to announcement. Even now I'm borrowing the Spirit of the North's life force." He bent his forehead to the bear's forehead. "What are you saying?" France demanded, tearily, refusing to understand.

England fell onto a chair, holding himself tightly with his arms as though to protect himself from the truth. Seychelles felt her heart speed up as she began to realize what Canada was saying. "No, it can't be." she whispered, but the words came out silent. Canada met Frances eyes, a sad, regretfully expression forming on his face. "Saskatchewan has already fallen." as he spoke, a piece of his face seemed to crack and crumble away. Seychelles flinch away, and France let out a low, keening wail.

"Canada." For the first time the bear remembered the man's name. Canada turned his attention to the bear. "Kumajiro." He responded, saying a name that he had not called in over a century. The bear was torn. He wanted to run, to hide, to fight, to do something, but he knew that there was nothing he could do. The man reached out his hands and curled them around the bear, even as they began to crumble into dust. "I'm scared." The bear murmured. The other countries watched the scene as though they were separated from the man and the beast by an invisible barrier.

Canada smiled, sadly. "Me too." He bent his head into the bear's furry ear and whispered into his ears. As he spoke, the beast felt his form changing, growing smaller, sprouting wings. His owner's final whisper seemed to echo in his head as the nations crumbled away, and he knew what he needed to do. Kumajiro took to the sky, Carrying not only Canada's last words, but also a purpose. As the beast spiraled into the air, a sound more broken and wild then any animal split the air. It was a cry of a heart breaking, a country disappearing, and a family left behind.

Somewhere, on the border of Saskatchewan, America froze, tears pouring down his face, and it began to rain in Washington DC, where it had been sunny only moments before.


	30. Something is changing

_"Who am I?" The man's question rang in the boys ears, and he struggled to think clearly. The boy opened his mouth to say he didn't know, but the answer came to him, almost like an instinct rather than a thought. "You're Canada." For a moment he thought he heard France and England's and America's voices in his head, saying that name multiple times, thousands of times in different tones, different ways, different situations. For a moment it felt as though he was sitting in a hospital bed, and a familiar face was telling him "You are Canada." The moment faded as quickly as it came, and he met the other's gaze. Canada, wore an expression of amazement, and happiness, and a sad knowing look._

_"That's right." He said, wonderingly. "Im Canada." The boy could tell, somewhere inside, that Canada too had heard the same voices. A series of emotions crossed Canada's face, ranging from shock, to happiness, to sorrow, and finally settling on a resigned look with a weary smile dripping with pain. Finally, the man caught the child's eyes. "Thank you." he said simply. "Then can I ask you something else?" The boy nodded, swallowing as though to clear his dry throat. The next question came like a blow to the boy._

_"Who are you?" His stomach churned. He wanted to say that he too, was Canada, but memories flooded through him. Memories from a time long ago, before England, or America, before the man with the glasses had ever existed. Memories of a time when he was alone, and then, memories of meeting France. He swayed unsteadily on his feet, but Canada pressed him for an answer. "Who are you?" he demanded. The words escaped from the boy before he could recognize them, or react to them. "Je suis Nouvelle France."_

_No sooner were these words spoken, then a large cracking noise, like a giant glass shattering was heard. New France looked to Canada for assurance, for assistance, but he was already up to his shoulders in sand, being swallowed up by the infite grains while New France was distracted. Canada shook his head. It wasn't the hourglass that had broken. New France followed his gaze, looking upwards. The blinding white that was the sky was breaking, cracks forming their way across it, and as New France watched, a large white piece fell, shattering as it hit the white floor nearby, and cracks spread across the floor as well. A scream tore from his throat before he could stop it. _

_Canada was up to his neck in sand now, and he spoke desperately. "Something has broken, and it can't be fixed." the ground was crumbling arround them as he spoke. "You're not who you were. Become someone new." As the words were hurriedly spoken, the sand covered Canada's chin. He spat one last sentence. "I hope we meet again someday. Now go!" and as the sand covered Canada's mouth, the ground fell from beneath the boy, and he was falling. Somewhere out of the crumbling white an animal seemed to appear, changing shape from a large white bear to something smaller, something winged. As its claws connected with the boy's arms, everything went black._


	31. Quebec

In the center of one of Montreal's national parks, all but deserted, a pile of frost covered leaves shifted, and a tiny boy with blonde hair sat up, and blinked his purple eyes. In the tree above him, a snowy owl snapped awake and swooped down to his side. For a moment the bird and the boy stared at each other. Then, the bird spoke, ruffling it's white feathers. "Quoi?" The question hung on the air for a moment, before the boy stood up, confidently brushing the leaves and snow from his blue vest, his single fleur-de-lis earing catching the light from a nearby park lamp and glinting. Finally, the boy responded, voice dripping with arrogance. "J'mapelle Québec."


End file.
